


A Little God In My Hands

by peternurphy



Series: Rantep Modern AU [2]
Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Sex, Enemies, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 14:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4880524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peternurphy/pseuds/peternurphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Driving off with the Crawling Chaos for a quick fuck in the middle of the woods. Outtake from main setting, and unedited to reflect change from 90s to 2010s</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little God In My Hands

Nine-thirty comes and goes, Randolph doesn’t change his mind. Every part of his brain is reminding him how bad an idea this is, and he acknowledges this. He doesn’t particularly want to become a newspaper article - of course, considering who exactly he is dealing with, he most likely won’t even get that. He’ll be blasted into nothingness, or thrown into some dark pit of the universe where logic and sense are useless and his mind can do nothing but break.

And yet, he walks with Nyarlathotep to the parking lot. To his own damn car. The BMW is haphazardly parked, and in yet another lapse of judgment, he gives Nyarlathotep the keys. “You want to just skip the motel idea?” He hears himself ask, and he hears Nyarlathotep respond that he likes that plan. 

Maybe he’ll change his mind if they get stuck in traffic. But Nyarlathotep is smart enough to take side streets, and quickly they make it onto the expressway. “They’ll never find my body,” He says, under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t particularly want you dead right now, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

It’s exactly what Randolph was thinking, but he stares straight into the highway’s horizon. “You have a lot of reason to. And you’d probably do it without a reason, anyway.”

“Then why are you here?”

“This is my car.”

“You gave me the keys.”

Randolph has no choice but to concede to that argument. Nyarlathotep turns off onto one of the exits, and the side of the road changes from empty grass and landfills to woods and trees. A speed limit sign says 55 mph, Nyarlathotep continues at around 70 - which Randolph finds rather slow. The books scattered around Randolph’s feet move and knock into each other. He brings his legs up, and leans against the door. A book slides near the chair, and he holds it in front of his chest. Nothing has happened by now. No weird variations in the laws of nature, no roads that couldn’t possibly exist. Maybe that means something. 

Finally, the car stops, on a patch of dirt a mile out from the main road. Nyarlathotep turns off the car and the talk radio program that Randolph has been half listening to abruptly cuts off in the middle of a sentence about Bill Clinton’s potential re-election. He makes a soft, dejected sound, but turns to Nyarlathotep.

He moves over the console to the back seat, and is quickly followed and pinned down by Nyarlathotep. For a minute they stare at each other - Randolph breathing heavily, half dazed, Nyarlathotep looking as calm and content as always. For the sake of safety, Randolph takes off his glasses and places them in the console. Still, Nyarlathotep doesn’t move. Is he waiting for him to do something? His wrists are being held down and he’s shocked - and yet, Randolph finds it within himself to move his torso up to meet Nyarlathotep’s lips.

“I know you want to hurt me.”

It’s surprisingly light. Nyarlathotep moves his hands to Randolph’s back and pulls himself closer. Slowly, Randolph feels Nyarlathotep’s lips ghost over his own and suck lightly on his upper lip. He can feel a slight brush of teeth, but they quickly move when Randolph pushes his tongue towards Nyarlathotep’s lips. The taste of his lips is sweet, the feel is noticeably, but not unpleasantly, colder than the other men Randolph has kissed. He moves his own hands to push Nyarlathotep’s hair from his face, seeing his eyes narrowed and at least a small amount of the cool exterior broken. 

Randolph’s nerve is raised, and he nips at the side of Nyarlathotep’s lip. Nyarlathotep responds immediately - first a gasp, then a sharper tug on Randolph’s lower lip. Under his breath, Randolph swear - it hurt. Of course, the pain only leads him to push himself closer to Nyarlathotep, who repositions him so his back is against the door of the car. One of Randolph’s legs extends across the seats, the other falls and his foot rests against the bottom of the seat. Nyarlathotep continues to tug at Randolph’s lip. Randolph tastes blood.

Nyarlathotep pulls back, for maybe a second - brushes his hand lightly over the center of Randolph’s lap, then without warning, rips the collar of his shirt. Randolph will likely never find those buttons again. It’s an ugly shirt anyway. But he has no time to ponder the buttons, as Nyarlathotep starts biting at his throat and neck. Not enough to break skin, but enough to hurt and most likely leave marks after the few seconds that he would stay in one place. It makes Randolph press closer to Nyarlathotep, involuntarily.

“So why aren’t you ripping out my throat with your teeth?”

“Because this is more fun,” says Nyarlathotep, breathy against the skin just under Randolph’s jaw. He tries not to shiver or stiffen too visibly, but Nyarlathotep’s soft laugh makes it obvious that he’s failed in that endeavor. “For the both of us.” His breath is soft and warmer than his skin. Randolph wants to respond, but merely whines and grips Nyarlathotep’s shirt.

As Randolph’s neck and collarbone steadily become marked with purple and red, Nyarlathotep moves slower, and brings one hand towards Randolph’s belt. The other moves towards his chest and lets the nails rest there; one fingertip brushes across his nipple. Randolph’s head swims. He’s shivering. He cries softly over Nyarlathotep’s head. Nyarlathotep stops moving, and they make the same eye contact. Blue to black. “Well?” Randolph’s soft voice echoes in the space, he moves forwards - and Nyarlathotep pulls him towards his pelvis before he can do what he was intending to. Already Nyarlathotep’s jeans are unzipped, but the belt is still done and the button attached. 

It doesn’t take long for that to be taken care of. Randolph maneuvers the Calvin Klein briefs down and begins to take the head into his mouth. He moves his tongue around the tip in slow circles. Rhythmically, he dips his head downwards then moves back to the original position. It’s slow. There’s a slight popping sound when he took his lips off Nyarlathotep’s cock, and tilts his head to kiss and suck along the side of the shaft.

He looks up at Nyarlathotep’s face before returning. Nyarlathotep still has the slight smile and his eyes are further narrowed. It’s more of a loss of composure. Randolph hums, only slightly conceitedly. But it evokes a response - Nyarlathotep tugs on Randolph’s hair and shoves his head back towards the original position, mouth around the cock, and down, until the base of Nyarlathotep’s cock is near Randolph’s lips and the tip nearly in his throat. It’s taken practice to manage this without gagging; now it’s more crucial than ever. He stops for a moment to catch his breath, however, Nyarlathotep pulls him by his hair to continue the motion. Something deviant in Randolph tells him not to acquiesce, and to let himself be pulled like this even though - no - because it hurt. But that isn’t entirely new.

The flat of Randolph’s tongue lays softly against the underside of the shaft, and he tastes mostly cold. The capillaries and blood vessels were light, but he notices them. It seemed odd - how does an Outer God have the irregularities of a human? The thought stays in Randolph’s mind for half a second at the most. He continues to suck and let his head be pulled, and stays restrained - keeping his hands away from himself, no matter how much the pain and Nyarlathotep’s sway drive into him.

However, the restraint can only last for so long. His hands dig into Nyarlathotep’s sides and Nyarlathotep stops moving and swears in some ancient language.

“That hurts,” says Nyarlathotep, sharply, and he pulls Randolph up. They face each other. Randolph is conscious of how his mouth must look - wet and red and all too eager. “What do you want?” Nyarlathotep places his hand on Randolph’s face, his fingers along Randolph’s cheekbone and his thumb under his chin. 

“Whatever you want.”

The little finger moves, and traces Randolph’s lips. Nyarlathotep snort, softly.

“Anything - anything at all, I don’t care,” Randolph says, desperate, breathy. The finger moves with the ring finger and touches his lips a second time, then they push inside. Randolph accepts them, with narrowed eyes filtering light and humming escaping his throat. But it’s too light. He digs his teeth into Nyarlathotep’s fingers and Nyarlathotep’s eyes widen.  
“What was that?” Nyarlathotep speaks softly, mockingly, as he pulls his hand back and examines the fingers. There are bite marks across the inside of the ring finger and the outside of the little finger, small punctured dimples in the skin. Nyarlathotep rubs his thumb across the ring finger, then jerks his head back up. “Don’t bite me.” His voice is never not light, Randolph notices.

So, he leans forward, and nips at the inside of Nyarlathotep’s neck. “Don’t do what?” asks Randolph, and rests his head against the sharp collarbone. He feels the back of his hair being tugged and looks up, with a concerted quizzical expression. The hair is tugged harder.

“Don’t bite me.”

Before Randolph can respond, Nyarlathotep’s hand strikes across his face. His reaction pulls the hair out of Nyarlathotep’s grasp. He touches his face, rubbing along where the hand had hit him. It hurts, and - God - he wants, he needs to be touched more. He makes the slightest movement and Nyarlathotep picks up on him, pushing him back down, biting his lips and sucking on the soft skin. Randolph wraps his arms around Nyarlathotep and pushes his hips towards him while reaching for something in his pocket. One of Nyarlathotep’s hands slides under and undoes the zipper. Randolph shivers. Nyarlathotep’s hand is cold on his cock.

Nyarlathotep presses Randolph against the seat and pushes his cock against Randolph’s. The stimulation isn’t entirely an overload, but it’s close. He moans into Nyarlathotep’s purple shirt, and grips the back of it tightly through his fingers. Nyarlathotep is breathing heavier. He pushes Randolph a bit forward and touches and kisses his neck and jaw again. It’s lighter. Softer. Randolph won’t go so far as to consider it apologetic, but it seems to come from somewhere more thoughtful. Randolph feels like clouds.

The hand around his own cock and the other tightens, and moves in a slow, peculiar fashion. Randolph doesn’t focus on any particular sensation, and instead lets everything wash over him at once. He’s whining and moaning as Nyarlathotep pushes against him, and Nyarlathotep is making sound himself. The biting and sucking stops - clearly Nyarlathotep is distracted. His head is moved against Randolph’s clavicle, and stays, pressed against him, as Nyarlathotep works into maintaining the last of his control over the interaction. His other hand is gripping Randolph’s shoulder. 

“Are you losing yourself?” Randolph teases, through gasps and incoherent moans. Nyarlathotep presses harder for a brief moment, but there’s no other option he can take. All his hands are occupied, and Randolph has succeeded in being too captivating for Nyarlathotep to make modifications on the form. Nyarlathotep swears in response, and keeps his rhythm. 

They move together against the seat of the car. Randolph’s legs wrap around Nyarlathotep’s back, and he arches his own. Randolph’s voice is kept in moans and whimpers and he grapples and shifts. But his involuntary movements do nothing to throw Nyarlathotep off. He moves faster, slightly. The build up in speed and pressure must be calculated. Randolph is in no state to notice if there’s precision or not, but Nyarlathotep would. He can hear his own heartbeat, in sync with Nyarlathotep’s hand.

Randolph’s eyes had been moving between shut and narrow. Then the connection clicks, and he widens his eyes, and grins stupidly. “That’s clever,” says Randolph. Like the rest of his statements, it’s broken at the end by a contented cry. Nyarlathotep growls something at him - something along the lines of stop talking. But Randolph continues.

“You’re so-”

Nyarlathotep sucks on his clavicle. Randolph exhales, sharply.

“-damn-”

The hand moves towards the base of his cock then back towards the tip, and he loosens and rotates his wrist by a few radians.

“-clev- Ah!”

Randolph spills onto his own stomach and relaxes, turning his head to the side. Nyarlathotep kneels over him and finishes himself off, his come more silver, almost seeming as if it’s emitting light. Nyarlathotep narrows his eyes and hums. “Am I?” Before anything else he fixes his hair, pushing the twists behind his ears. Then he straightens his shirt, scratches something on his forearm, then finally fixes the zipper on his pants and opens the car door. Randolph doesn’t move. He watches Nyarlathotep walk off into the forest, then cleans himself, and falls asleep on the cologne-scented back seat of the car.

**Author's Note:**

> of course it's titled after a song by swans. of course. randolph doesn't even use his hands in this.


End file.
